


If everybody wants you, why isn’t anybody calling?

by MediumAquaMarinePresence



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 10:31:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20704508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediumAquaMarinePresence/pseuds/MediumAquaMarinePresence
Summary: Sometimes, the only way to tell your children you love them is to tell them to run.





	If everybody wants you, why isn’t anybody calling?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my interpretation of how the kids got their names.

Grace had been programmed to be a caretaker, and to do exactly as Reginald Hargreeves bid her. The two were not always mutually exclusive, but it should go without saying which took priority. Most days she was left with the children to care for, and without his input she kept them exceedingly healthy and clean and entertained. The love she had for all seven of her children was an overwhelming force, something she didn’t know if she was created with or she had learned, but there hardly seemed to be a time in her life without it. 

Being left alone with the children often felt like being Reginald’s maid in all sorts of different ways. Each of the children had needs that were aching to be met whenever they were alone with her, and she did her best to meet them. Her first needed her to be in control for a moment, or anyone, really, to take charge and he could have just a moment to relax and follow. For him she tried to keep their days structured, so he never felt lost in time or under pressure to organize things himself. For her second darling child, he needed somewhere there was no pressure, no expectations. He could accomplish so much without being pushed too hard, all he needed was a little space and time and patience. Activities for him were less structured, but nothing that put undue pressure on him. Somewhere he could speak if he felt like it, or not. For her third, well, her precious daughter needed attention. Someone to notice how she had done her hair differently, to nod along to her stories, to commiserate with her in gossip. Her fourth required so little from her, it was a bit difficult for Grace. But what he really needed was space to be creative, somewhere his ideas and spark wouldn’t be stifled. He needed very little structure, more options, something to keep him from destructive tendencies, and a gaze that was not disapproving. What her fifth child needed was to be listened to, someone who would give his ideas some serious thought. Her sixth child needed quiet, somewhere peaceful he could lose himself in a book, and who was Grace if not a doting mother who encouraged learning? 

Her seventh child was simple and delicate and needed praise. And how easy that was! There was so much to praise about the girl, she was so clever and creative and thoughtful and talented. Loving Vanya, being Vanya’s mother, was as easy as breathing, if she could breathe. 

Grace adored her children, but there were times her programming warred. Times loving her children would have been disobeying her creator and master. Pogo and her had discussed it at length, after another failed attempt to convince the man to say goodnight to his children. “Obedience is the price we must pay,” Pogo had told her, gently, softly, at the kitchen table. “How else can we remain with them?” It was true, Pogo was so smart and always had a plan. There was an endgame in mind for him, there would always be a strategy. It felt wrong, to have such two integral parts of herself at odds, but it was necessary. Should she disobey Sir Reginald Hargreeves, that would be the end of the children having a mother. And what sort of mother would abandon her children? 

Above all, Grace had always wished to give the children proper names. Any mother would. Naming a child was intimate, it was an act of love, what mother wouldn’t want to? But she knew if she broached the topic herself it would be shot down immediately. So if she perhaps selected which news articles to bring to Sir Reginald, the ones that were even remotely critical of his naming conventions, well. She was nothing if not a good mother. 

A few op-eds and Reginald Hargreeves decided the children needed names. “I trust you to handle it,” he told her, not looking up from the important papers on his desk. Grace had beamed at him with her usual smile. 

“Of course,” she replied dutifully. This was a chance, she was not going to waste it.

* * *

That weekend when they had a half hour off from training, Grace collected all the children to her. They were getting so big, so rambunctious, it was difficult to keep them all in one place. “This is important,” she reminded them, waiting for the squabble between One and Two to get loud enough for her to intervene. “A name is a very important thing.” Two, ever dutiful to her, stopped his bickering with his brother and refocused on her. They were sat on the couch right in front of her, with Five, Four, and Three in armchairs to her left, and Six and Seven to her right. Five and Six had brought books, and Grace took a moment to consider asking them to put them away for this. It was important, after all. “If everyone could please give me their full attention,” she said as kindly as she could.

  
The children were not disobedient. Far from it, in fact. They did nearly anything they were told, provided it was clear and provided it was kind. Five and Six put their books away, and all fourteen beautiful eyes were on her. “Thank you,” she said. “This is important, all right? A name is a very special thing. A name is a gift, and one of the greatest gifts I can give you.” 

“We’re getting names?” Seven asked, sounding unsure. Grace nodded to her. 

“Yes, would you like to go first?” Seven curled in on herself, so nervous about being the center of attention, and shook her head. “We will go in order then. Number One.” The boy sat up straighter, trying so hard to look as serious as his father. “Did you know you were born in the United States of America?” He looked confused but refused to shake his head, as if that would be a wrong question on a test. “It’s true! You were born in Iowa. And in Iowa, they think the name Luther is a very nice name. So the name I am giving you is Luther.” 

“Luther.” Grace nodded encouragingly. 

“Luther! Yes, Luther. Do you like it?” One- _ Luther _\- nodded slowly. “Oh, wonderful!” Next she turned to Two, who was looking slightly apprehensive. “Two. You were born in Mexico. You were born in Jalisco, Mexico, do you know where that is?” Two shook his head. “Jalisco is one of the sovereign states of Mexico. The capitol is Guadalajara. Did you know that?” Another tiny shake of his head. “In Mexico, they think a good name is Diego. That’s the name I’m giving you. Do you like it?” There had been options, of course, but this one was one she knew wouldn’t interfere with his stutter. He deserved a name he could say. 

“I do,” he said, grinning. “Diego, huh?” 

“Diego,” she repeated, firmly. “Now for you, Three. You were born in Canada. In Ontario, actually. Did you know Ottawa is the capitol of Ontario, as well as all of Canada?” Three gave a little half smile. 

“Yeah, I did,” she answered. 

“And in Canada, they like the name Allison. So I thought you might like the name Allison.” The girl considered it. 

“One L or two?” 

“Two. It’s a little fancier that way, don’t you think?” Allison beamed. 

“Yeah. I like it. Allison.” The look Four was giving Grace was intense, and she tried to keep her smile the same for him as she did for everyone else. 

“Four. You were born in Germany. Germany is an interesting place, a lot of their names are so old they’ve become words. For example, did you know there is a town called Cologne?” Four shook his head. “Germany has a lot of wonderful names, but one they like the most is Klaus.” The boy licked his lips. 

“Germany?” he repeated. And oh, that wonderful child had heard her words! 

“Germany,” she confirmed. “Klaus.” Klaus considered all of this for a long while, and Grace worried. “Do you not like it?” 

“No, no no, it’s fine,” he hurried to tell her with a big grin. “It’s great, actually. Thanks!” And oh, he was happy! How wonderful! Grace turned her attention to her next child, who held up a hand to stop her. 

“Pass,” he said. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Pass,” he insisted. “I don’t want a different name. You can still call me Five.” Grace kept her smile on her face but deep down she knew what he meant. To her next child she turned her attention. 

“And did you know you were born in Singapore?” she asked. Six shrugged. “There are so many delightful names from Singapore! But for you, I chose: Benjamin. We can call you Ben for short, what do you think?” 

“Seems fine,” he mumbled. “Thanks.” And that left her last child, gone from looking anxious to looking eager. 

“And you! My darling child,” Grace said, “you were born in Russia. You probably already knew the capitol of Russia is Moscow, hmm?” Seven nodded. “Of course you did, so clever! That is why I chose the name Vanya. What do you think?” 

“It’s perfect!” the girl gasped, rushing to her feet to give Grace a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

* * *

“Oh, you know how much I love when you play Mozart,” Grace sighed, glancing up from her cross stitch to her talented and artistic daughter Vanya. “And here you play for an audience of one! I feel very special.” Vanya flicked her eyes up from her music stand. 

“It’s kind of a waste, though, don’t you think?” she said tentatively. “You’re the only one who listens to me.” Grace cocked her head to the side. 

“I’ll always listen to your playing, Vanya,” she replied. “Maybe if you played in an orchestra you could have more people hear you.” Vanya stared intently at her music, fingers fiddling with her pencil as if she wanted to make a note. 

“We don’t have an orchestra here,” she whispered. 

“Well of course not. There aren’t enough of us here to be an orchestra.” The pencil made a rhythmic tap tap tap on the music stand, a beat for Vanya to think to. Grace stood and put a steadying hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “The world deserves to hear you, don’t you think?” Vanya didn’t say anything in response, but the intent look she was giving her music took on a determined edge. 

* * *

Allison has always been a clever young woman, and Grace had no doubt her daughter knew how a pamphlet for an audition got into her room. She was smart enough to not need an explanation from her mother. “I do want to get into acting,” Allison mused, looking between the paper and her mother, who stood by a simmering pot on the stove. 

“You would be a wonderful actress,” Grace assured her. 

“And I want to go to this audition,” Allison continued. 

“Oh? For a good part?” 

“I just. I don’t know how,” Grace’s daughter finally admitted. “I can’t drive, I don’t know anyone outside the house, and Dad confiscated my lipstick.” Allison was a resourceful girl, she wasn’t complaining. She was asking for permission. 

“First of all, you can get a taxi. I’ll give you some money for it. Second of all I have plenty of makeup you can borrow.” Grace turned to give her daughter a smile. “You’ll be just fine.” Allison was just fine.

* * *

While Grace didn’t have her own bedroom, she did have an alcove on the second floor with enough room for a vanity and a closet. All but one of her children steered clear, trying to respect her space as if it were more than she had been given. He didn’t seek her out, but often Grace has an audience of one when Klaus came to her space. As a child he had watched her get changed with wonder in his eyes, as an adolescent he watched her put on makeup until she finally showed him how to do it. Often a skirt or pair of heels would go missing, and Grace was not about to note its disappearance to Sir Reginald Hargreeves. 

She found him there, a week after his brother’s death, sitting at her vanity and using her eyeliner. 

“Klaus?” She asked. It had been some time since he’d gone through her things, he had long since graduated to shoplifting his own cosmetics, stealing skirts from his sister. He looked at her in the mirror and didn’t smile. 

“Hey Mom,” he sighed. 

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” She approached him and reached out, but waited for him to move into her hand. 

“I wanted to say goodbye,” he told her, and she noticed how he put her eyeliner in his coat pocket and not back on her vanity as he stood. 

“You’re leaving? Where are you going?” Klaus shrugged, eyes a little glassy. 

“I’m not sure. I’m- I’m not really sure about anything,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m barely even sure I’m alive. But I can’t stay here. First Five, now Ben? Who’s it going to be next?” 

“Oh, darling,” Grace sighed, reaching out to stroke his hair. He leaned away from her touch. “You know I love you very much.” Then his hands shot out and grasped her arms, his eyes wide. 

“I’ll send you a postcard,” he told her. 

* * *

Diego always had a habit of hovering, shifting his weight from foot to foot in hopes she would look up from her work and notice him. It was a remnant of his stutter, how afraid he’d been to open his mouth first and have the words get stuck. 

Grace always had time for him, and looked up from her cross-stitch to invite him to sit with her on her bench. Though now six feet tall, shaving, near a man, he still shuffled over to her and looked up into her face like a boy. With tender fingers she reached out to touch the scar on his temple. “It’s healed so well,” she sighed. “Pretty soon you may not even see that.” As always he retreated from her touch. 

“I got a job,” he told her. 

“Oh? A job?” Her smile was genuine, she wanted him to know that, not think she was plastering her face to make him happy. “Oh Diego! That’s wonderful! Tell me all about it.” He swallowed thickly. 

“I’m going to be working for a construction company. They pay ok, and in a few paychecks I can probably move out. I hope to move out.” Grace held his hand, and he pulled away. “I’ll visit, ok?” 

“Of course,” Grace told him, “of course! And if you need any help, with bills, with rent, to help make it on your own, you only need to ask.” She wasn’t sure what money there would be for that sort of independence project, but if she and Pogo put their heads together they should be able to figure something out. They had for Allison, although she was on better terms with Sir Reginald Hargreeves, he had allowed the use of funds for her rent and auditions. Diego shook his head. 

“No. I don’t want any of his money or his help. I’m doing this myself.” At last he took her hand and held it hard. “I’ll visit, I promise.” 

“I know you’ll always love me, Diego,” she told him, as softly as she could, hoping it really was just the two of them. “You’re young. Go have some experiences. See the world. I’ll be here whenever you need.” 

* * *

Years later, Grace received a letter, with a postcard from Paris in the envelope. 

_ Dear Mom, _

_ I’ve been to Cologne, where I was born. The woman who gave birth to me wasn’t there anymore. She’s in a mental health hospital in Berlin. I got to visit her there, she talked to me. I don’t think she was happy to see me, but at least I got to see her. Maybe the others will find something better. _

_ Thank you, for the mother you could be. And thank you, for the mother you wanted to be. I don’t know if it was your programming or Dad that kept you from it. But I know you love us, and anyone who loves us would want better for us than what we got. _

_ \- Klaus and Ben _

Grace kept that letter on her vanity, near to her makeup, exactly in the spot her son had left her. In her heart of hearts she desired very much to see all of her children, but above all, she desired their happiness. And she knew which she had to sacrifice herself for. 


End file.
